


Options and Opportunities

by MagisterShiryu



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Multi, Not A Fix-It, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV First Person, POV Multiple, Rare Pairings, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-03-16 07:41:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13631754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagisterShiryu/pseuds/MagisterShiryu
Summary: When I had first realized that this world was the one that George RR Martin had created, I had been scared... But, reassured in my knowledge of canon, even if I was born in one of the worst places in Westeros. What if, the world and characters weren't the same, and I was Theon Greyjoy, with his impulses still embedded in me?





	1. The Siege of Pyke

To put it bluntly, I think that I'm starting to realize at what point I'd honestly dislike some of the characters if I ever met them.

The only three people who actually were people that I had a pretty good feeling about trusting, were Asha, Dagmer, and my mother. That was a short list, but then again, in the Iron Islands, you didn't _really_ trust each other. Not proper, telling secrets, trust.

Then again... I was in Westeros, as Theon Greyjoy. I shouldn't trust anybody. This wasn't Earth, where most of the problems in Westeros were non-existent, or if they existed, they were suppressed massively... At least, in the West.

I had to be so fucking careful in this verse, especially with the Others, massive dragons, Varys, Cersei, and last, but not least, Littlefinger. My knowledge of canon and their personalities was key, to surviving. They were just a bit too unpredictable for my tastes.

I wasn't much above average at wielding a sword, but I did have quite a bit of charisma to my name. Theon did have that spark... He was just too arrogant to make it properly work in his favor.

I was pretty good with a bow though. That was Theon talking though. Most of my martial experience is Theon's since I had decided that whilst strength of arm _was_ important, being an expert manipulator was way above it.

The amount of times that people got fucked over in this verse because they weren't savvy enough, was, to be frank, incredible... But not unexpected. On Earth, it was the same thing - but you didn't get the same amount of punishment for trusting the wrong people.

Also, the Greyjoy Rebellion was nearing its close... Which either meant that I would survive (if canon was feeling up to being canon), or I would die (eg. fanfic scenario where somebody important to Robert Baratheon died).

"Stags and wolves sighted at the Southern Gate, little Theon!" Dagmer interrupted my musings, urgency in his tone as he barged into the room. "Asha is already in her room, guarded by four guards, you should be safer in one room - hurry, boy!"

I nodded hurriedly, not finding the point to say any words, as we eventually arrived in front of our destination, and I was pushed into the room, Dagmer pressing a dagger into my hands. "In case any stags or wolves think that culling us is a good idea."

And then the door closed before I could get a word in.

"He gave you a weapon too?" Asha piped up, from her position on her bed.

"Yep... A dagger." I replied, after settling myself on the desk in the corner of the room, taking a moment to cursorily glance around the room. A bookshelf was in the opposite corner to the desk, and a chest filled with what I assumed were her clothes at the end of the bed, were the main things apart from the bed and the desk that we could use as a barricade.

"You're thinking too hard, Theon... We'll be able to push them off." She tried to assure me, with a smirk that wavered.

"I'd prefer that what happened to Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen, didn't happen to us," I replied, feeling a bit bad for how her expression fell. "Come on - help me barricade the door."

"Okay," she said, as we both moved to move her bookshelf, the sounds of shouting, and stone crumbling from the towers. We were in the farthest tower to the north, which hopefully made us less of a target.

After fifteen minutes, we had pushed nearly everything against the door, even stacking her chest and bookshelf on top of the bed and desk. We settled on the stone floor, shivering as a strong gale bashed against the tower.

I grabbed Asha's hand, trying to look as reassuring as possible. "Asha, if anybody comes up here, we've got to show them what we're born from."

"Ironborn," she said, squeezing back, confidence rising. "If any stupid wolves or stags come to find us, they'll find a kraken waiting for them!"

"What is dead, may never die," I stated, with a wide smile, feeling like laughing at the irony that the phrase is nearly as truthful as the Stark's 'winter is coming'... And around the same theme.

"But rises again, harder and stronger," Asha answered, with a grin herself.

We eventually managed to ignore the siege, only pausing when the shouting stopped, and clanking echoed. I slowly crept over to the other side of the door, especially upon hearing unfamiliar accents, and voices.

What I suspected were soldiers, attempted to kick down the door, our barricades rattling at the attempt. I barely noticed Asha looking at me, with fear in her eyes.

I merely stood, gripping my dagger in reverse, noting my sister doing the same as me. Our hasty barricade collapsed and two soldiers crept into the room, swords at the ready.

I kicked the door forward, the door impacting the soldiers, a loud clank echoing as they fell. They shouted, Asha screamed, and I was merely _acting_ , a splatter of blood on my cheek, before a punch slammed into my face, staggering me towards the wall.

I tried to get myself straight, but another kick sent me to the floor, followed with two other kicks for good measure.

"Stop hurting him!" Asha yelled as she tried desperately to attack my attacker, before a slap echoed in my ear, the sound of a fist hitting her stomach.

"Stay down, squid whore!" The man retorted, and I felt my anger rise enormously.

"Get off her!" I shouted, as I managed to headbutt one of the men in the jaw, and biting his hand.

"Little fucker!" He roared, punching me with his other fist, following with a kick to my ribs when I fell to the ground next to Asha.

The man kicked my head, and I dropped to the ground, dazed, not even realizing that Asha had crawled over to me, and was clutching my hand.

"Stop the violence lads," a commanding voice rose, that rose the hairs on the back of my neck. "They'll get what's coming to them, the shits."

"Theon, I-i'm so sorry..." She whispered into my ear.

"Get up, stupid cunt." A man interrupted, and I rose unsteadily, relying on Asha for support. Blood leaked from my mouth, but I didn't wipe it away. Let them see that Theon Greyjoy had killed a soldier when he was nine with only a dagger.

We slowly entered the outside courtyard, where Balon was kneeling, Robert Baratheon looked terrifying with steel armor, antler helmet, and a nasty-looking warhammer in his hand, and Eddard Stark had Ice on his back, with leather armor and furs around his neck. A storm had come too.

"Balon fucking Greyjoy." The King said, his voice as cold as ice. "Your rebellion killed Renly, my little sop of a brother. I loved him, even for all of the annoying shit that he said."

I felt myself freeze. What?

"My good friend, Ned Stark has captured all of your brothers, who have all met my hammer. The only thing restraining me from making your face into pasted red shit on the floor is that same man with his damnable honor."

What...?

"I've decided that you're going to live, Balon," Robert said as he pushed the Greyjoy lord's face up to look at him. "But I've confiscated your ships, and their designs for my brother, Stannis to own, and use. You'll have to rebuild on your own, unfortunately. Ned has also decided that I shouldn't leave your heirs here, and take the last of your children as hostages."

...What?!

"You better not fucking waste my mercy, Balon... I might decide that your children would look better with their heads off..."

And with that, the Greyjoy Rebellion ended, and I realized that I was in an alternate universe to canon, as Robert Baratheon walked away, my plans falling apart before they'd even started.

I... I was fucked, wasn't I?


	2. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-posted with FF.net. If you want any notes for these chapters, you'll have to go to FF.net. After chapter 6, AO3 readers will get notes too. 
> 
> I'm doing that mostly because the AN's don't really make sense if you don't read them on FF.net, but yeah.

I have to admit, the fact that I was in an alternate universe threw me into a massive loop. What else had changed that I had no clue about? Were people who were boys, now girls for some fucked up reason? Would Robert finally decide that he should be a proper King, instead of relying on Jon Arryn...

Admittedly, the Robert one was wishful thinking, but given how this universe already seemed different to George RR Martin's one, just because of _Renly_ 's death, who was the least important Baratheon brother...

Well, it could just be my selfish side coming out - this had affected me quite badly, and had essentially crippled the Iron Islands for potentially decades. Balon had essentially been _forced_ to try to emulate his father, Quellon, which had been quite ingenious from Robert, even if it had been fuelled from Baratheon rage over his brother's death.

Fucking Renly... Why didn't he just stay in Storm's End, like I assume he did during the books?

Luckily, Asha had taken it upon herself to keep herself (and by proxy, myself), informed on nearly everything that the King said, mostly by sneaking around, and asking whatever the Ironborn heard.

I meanwhile, made an extreme effort to speak to all the sailors, and try to learn all of their dirty fighting tricks, and practice my swordplay with anyone who would take me up on it. I got beaten up nearly all the time, but I, more importantly, learned things and improved my relations with the Ironborn - they appreciated anybody who could take a hard hit, and continue on - especially a 'whelp' like me.

"You've been getting beaten up again?" Asha commented, with a smirk on her face.

"No," I denied, forging on despite her smirk getting wider as I nursed my cuts with cold water and a flannel. "I've been getting my fighting to a better level."

"Why? You've never been all that enamored with it, 'til now."

I opened my mouth, but then closed it, as I tried to figure out my desire to become a better fighter... I did feel pretty annoyed about my plans going to waste before they were even realized, but I also felt that I could still make my position better.

Knowing characters was key, and nobody had diverged much from what I had read and interpreted.

"I..." I started to reply, before thinking on it more. "I just realized that in the North, where we'll probably be staying for a good portion of our lives, that nearly all the greenlander lords know how to fight."

I paused, looking to the ground in embarrassment. "I also really didn't like seeing you get beaten up like that."

I stood and surveyed my sister for a moment. She had a pretty nasty bruise on her face, with a new one on her right eye, and I knew for a fact that she had taken more hits than I had seen happen - I had been rather out of it after I got kicked in the head.

I had taken more, but I didn't really care about how many hits _I_ took.

"You took way more of it then I did, Theon." She replied, after a moment of silence. "I'm your big sister, I'm meant to be the one to protect you, not the other way around."

"... I don't particularly care about you being older - all that matters is that they hurt you." I retorted, Theon's insecurity merging with my confused anger. "Don't think that I didn't see that massive bruise on your ribs and eye, that only appeared today! What's that about?"

My sister glared harshly at me, faltering at whatever she saw in my eyes. She lowered her eyes to the ground before she started to say pleadingly, "Just... Please, don't ask Theon. I'll... I'll handle it. I'm much stronger than you think I am."

I felt like continuing so much, but I relented. "If you need anything, just... Say it."

A somewhat awkward silence ensued, as I continued to nurse my cuts with whatever modern medicinal/hygiene notion I could apply to medieval medicine, and whatever I could use, whilst she started cleaning her weapons.

"The King's replacing his master of laws with his brother, and Stannis's getting Storm's End, whilst one of the Celtigars, is castellan of Dragonstone until his now legitimized bastard son is of age, and capable enough to handle the castle."

I managed to withhold my surprise at Stannis getting Storm's End, and for Robert having the audacity to legitimize his bastard. "He's going to set a precedent, you realize?"

"What do you mean? I have heard of a few bastards getting legitimized." Asha asked, with a raised eyebrow.

"But not _royal_ bastards," I replied, scouring through my knowledge of the verse. "Whilst I don't know of any at the top of my head, I'm pretty sure that there hasn't been a lot of them throughout history."

"What about knighthood?"

"Knights aren't lords though - even if they _can_ have a higher prestige, wealth, or land than a lesser lord," I replied, and upon seeing her face scrunch up, as she tried to understand. "Don't worry, let's put it like this: a _royal_ bastard being _properly_ legitimized without any fanfare, and taking the seat of a lord is unheard-of. Get me?"

"I do, I think." She said, a small smile blossoming on her face. "Have you ever though about being a maester?"

"No way in hell." I retorted. I did like to know things, but I didn't like to get _surrounded_ by things to know and was forced to know - which was why I hated school. Also, the maesters in Oldtown were a bunch of creeps who knew far too much. "You aren't getting me down there, even if I've been permanently crippled."

I momentarily thought of Bran and Tyrion, but easily dismissed them from my mind.

"What else?" I asked.

"Nothing really, except that they plan to move us in two days, which is when Stannis estimates how long the..." Asha sighed. "Ships, are going to take to move."

I really did feel for her - she had wanted to sail her entire life, free from nearly everyone, and now we'd probably never be able to, at least in the near future. I put my hand on her shoulder comfortingly.

"I have a plan," I say, with a massive grin on my face.

"What is it?" She asks her look still forlorn.

I didn't reply, apart from taking a cup filled with water, and poured it down her neck. "That!"

"AH!" I heard her shout, too busy laughing and running to get another cupful of water whilst she screamed at me. "You're _soooo_ going to get it, this time Theon!"

* * *

On our last day on Pyke, Asha had requested between my sword fighting and her information gathering, for us to see our mother before we go. I hadn't protested - whilst Alannys Harlaw wasn't _my_ mother, she _was_ Theon's, and thus, I still felt a massive kinship with her.

When we had arrived at Ten Towers, Rodrik had gazed impassively at the Stark bannermen, who had been chosen to accompany us, in case we tried and run off.

Our mother had begun sobbing as soon as we had tried to explain, and she had even started cursing Balon for his stupidity before her anger got overwhelmed by something between the realm of madness, and the realm of overwhelming despair and sadness.

We hadn't been able to stop her crying, even when Asha had tried desperately (and was nearly sobbing herself) to stop it. I just... Stopped working during that period. My mouth had been ready to say something, but...

Her last words to us when we had left, had to be honest, nearly made me cry myself. "My little Theon, my Asha, please don't... Take them... PLEASE!"

That last word especially had torn my heart apart. The despair, the way she had added the 'little' to my name...

God, she had even made me think like Theon for a second there...

The Stark bannermen had been silent when we exited, and silent when we finally arrived at our tent, that had been designated for us, to separate us from our 'father'.

After tonight, I didn't know who I blamed more: Robert Baratheon or Balon.

My rational mind said, Balon.

My emotionally high mind said both.

Asha had said both, and I hadn't hesitated to agree at the time. But now, when I actually _think_ about it...

Is this what it's like playing in Westeros? Emotionally exhausting, tiring, painful, for a bunch of different reasons, even at the same time. With it being morally grey nearly all the damn time?

Theon had no answer for me this time, and I had no answer this time either.


	3. Roadkill

The North was a cold, hard, barren place.

The sun showed its face, but it seemed to be a massive tease, going out for ten minutes, before coming back in for an hour, in a sort of cycle, and the winds chilled the bone... And we barely had furs to cover us - only our neck and upper back. Not including our fur boots, that did admittedly seem to be doing their job well.

No wonder most Northmen were stronger and tougher than Southerners - this place is _harsh_ , even relative to Pyke. No wonder most of them seemed grim - this place _was_ grim.

But, it had some sort of ethereal beauty about it that I felt had something to do with the blood of the First Men, the innate magic in their veins, and nearly the whole North itself, with the power in the weir wood trees, and the long-lost children of the forest beyond the Wall... Even the Others, if Martin's source material came up correct.

Nobody had really noticed my fascination with the North, and I hoped that it stayed relatively unknown until only the bannermen of Winterfell remained - I didn't trust anybody at the moment.

I didn't particularly do anything when we stopped, mostly observing what happened, and more importantly, how the Northmen talked to one another. If I could successfully integrate myself, I could eventually hold a certain amount of power.

After all, the Starks had proven how foreigners died whenever they didn't adapt to their new environments, I thought darkly to myself.

There was also the fact that I was too _tired_ to actually properly do much else. I could swing a sword sure, but it'd be a waste to show off whatever I knew to near absolute strangers.

No, it'd be best to do it behind Winterfell's walls, where I at least, had a 50% chance of being safe at all times...

If anything ever went according to plan, I thought derisively, remembering the fact that I was in an alternate universe.

We eventually managed to only become approximately three thousand Stark men, before becoming merely twenty upon nearing Winterfell, and Winter Town. The others had ridden ahead to greet their families.

A sudden shout alerted me to one of the Stark men, falling to an arrow that had struck him right in the eye. I quickly grabbed my sword from the sheath on my waist, even as the Stark men were dying left and right.

I grabbed Asha's arm, my eyes wide. "Get to Winterfell. Alert them to an attack on the Lord and his hostage."

"I'm not leaving you Theon." She protested, her eyes fearful but blazing.

"You're not - you're getting help against an unwinnable battle, proving your worth to the Starks and the North. I'm staying because it shows that I'm courageous in the face of death, you get me?" I retorted, feeling slightly uneasy about making my intentions sound so manipulative.

I squashed it, even though traces remained in my heart. I needed to be focused.

"I'm -" She tried to protest again, but she could see my point.

I capitalized on that.

"Just... Please?" I pleaded, feeling sick about how I was playing this.

I squashed it again.

She reluctantly nodded, before sprinting towards the trees, whilst I inhaled, a determined look entering my face as I managed to crouch behind a rock, peaking out to see Ned Stark managing to fight off three wildlings by himself.

I immediately noticed one of the Free Folk notch an arrow, and seeing that it was aimed towards Asha, sprinted towards them, my sword stabbing into her throat before she could see me properly. Taking the bow from her corpse, I took an arrow from her old quiver and fired, hitting one in the sword arm, giving one of the Stark men enough chance to cut his head off.

A loud shout of exertion sounded out, and I stared upon the form of a massive six-foot man wielding a massive axe, cleave two men into four pieces with a mighty swing of his axe and stare right at me - no, the woman that I had just killed and then at my bloody sword.

"YOU!"

I could barely contain my whimper as he started charging towards me, faster than I thought a man like that could move. His axe swung, and I hastily blocked, the force nearly making my arm collapse.

He backhanded me, and I barely managed to push myself to avoid the axe that threatened to cut my head in half.

He was too fast, and I wasn't skilled enough to be able to try to get the upper hand.

It made me angry to the core. So fucking angry that I couldn't see anybody else apart from _him_.

My swings became wilder, stronger, more focused.

I was dodging things that I simply _couldn't_ have otherwise.

And then my sword struck his throat, just as an arrow slammed into my shoulder and I staggered backwards, stumbling on the snow-covered roots and branches, nearly falling to the ground, which would have ended badly for me.

I managed to settle behind a tree, narrowly avoiding another arrow that would've skewered my leg - an even worse injury, especially in what was essentially the Middle Ages, even if there _was_ magic in this version.

Blood hadn't pooled from my shoulder injury, and I decided to keep the arrow in there, in case I started bleeding out if I did. I flinched, as blood started pouring from the left side of my stomach, an injury that I hadn't even noticed that I had received during my fight.

I placed my hand over it, whilst my other hand hastily grabbed my knife, and cut a bit of my clothing off, placing it against the wound as tightly as I could.

"There he is!" A voice shouted out, as I tried as hard as I could to stay conscious.

I've lost quite a bit of blood there, haven't I?

"He saved the lord, didn'he? Killed their leader..."

I eventually heard concerned shouting, a familiar voice making its way through the buzz, and my closed eyes, as I lapsed between conscious and unconscious.

And then I finally succumbed to the darkness, shouting echoing my ears.


	4. Interlude: Jon

Since his father had left Winterfell to fight off the Greyjoy Rebellion, Winterfell had become a cold, hostile place for Jon.

Any withholding that Lady Stark did when his father was here, was gone now. The only thing stopping her from outright cursing him was Robb's constant support and little Sansa, who had taken to imitating her brother and was the current distraction for the Lady.

He felt a bit of _something_ when his little sister stared at him like... He didn't know. Not her brother.

He wondered if it was because Lady Stark had taken to glaring at him, and she was getting conflicted messages from Robb and her mother. And who would she listen to more, especially at this age...

Jon managed to get rid of his troubling thoughts, as the same sister he had been thinking of, grabbed his arm.

"San-san." She said, just before giggling widely at his bewildered expression... Or at nothing at all. He wouldn't know.

"Jon-jon." He mimed back, hesitantly. He added a motion towards himself, in a bid to introduce himself properly.

She was nearly one and a half, and yet it seemed like she had only just known him. The morbid thought chilled him somewhat, but he concentrated on his cute little sister.

He had been ordered by Lady Stark to watch over her, since she was doing some sort of transaction, or some other lordly business. She was the only one who could do it - he was a bastard, and Robb didn't have a head for sums. She had brought Robb, mostly to have some hands-on teaching.

Jon knew that he wasn't supposed to know, but he did. Whispers travelled in Winterfell.

"Jon-jon! Plaaay." She ordered, pulling a pout as she did.

He slowly walked over to her and saw that she had pulled out an old doll that vaguely looked like a knight, another one that looked like a princess (vaguely as per usual), and something that looked like a lion.

"Who's who?" He asked, before mentally slapping himself. She probably didn't understand what he meant saying that. "Me knight, you lady, or...?"

"Me princwess, you be knit AND liii..." She trailed off, trying to figure out a way to bastardize the word.

"Lin," he said for her, with a grin on his face.

Her eyes widened, and her face became the brightest he had seen... Especially regarding him. "Lin!"

Jon declared mentally that he would protect that smile with whatever he had, and with everything he had. He had been searching for a reason beyond Robb and Father to stay at Winterfell, and he had found it.

He swore it until his dying breath.

"Jon-jon? Okay?" Little Sansa asked concerned, which brought him back from his thoughts, but the vow remained in his mind.

"Fine," he replied, with a small smile as the two started playing with dolls. It made Jon feel stupid, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The Bastard of Winterfell wasn't going to be an outsider any more, if he had anything to say about it. He was not going to be just the bastard, the soil on Eddard Stark's honour.

He was going to rise above that, just to see that smile pop up on others peoples faces whenever they saw him.

* * *

Jon had pretended not to notice Lady Stark's scowl, when she returned to find Sansa giggling madly at when he had been imitating the lion being defeated by the fair knight.

But, he didn't pretend to see Robb's grin at the sight. Jon instinctively knew that he had gained his brother's potentially eternal approval, in that moment.

Lady Stark didn't make anything of it... But he had a feeling that she'd say something to him, at some point. Not even a feeling. The certainty even.

Jon decided to leave Sansa in the responsible hands of her mother, who was fussing over her at the moment, deciding that a bit of practice wouldn't do any harm. If he wanted to surpass the notion of being a stain on his honourable father's honour, he would have to get better at what he was already good at.

Knights were respected and even praised. If he got to become a great knight, he'd raise above the notion of being that stain.

He might even lead troops into battle, a notion that scared him. Having that many lives in his hands, under his responsibility...

He went through the notions of swinging a sword, before grabbing a wooden one from the rack, and swinging it as hard, but as gracefully as he could.

"You shouldn't swing like that, especially with your body weight." A cold voice rose above him, and sent chills up his spine. "A well-placed cut is far more effective than a wild slash."

Jon turned instantly to see a man with long brown hair, and eyes that looked like twin moons. He wasn't as tall as his father, but wasn't short by any meaning. Average, if that was the right word.

"My lord," he said, before bowing hastily recognizing a lord when he saw one. "I'm sorry if I disturbed you."

"You are my lord liege's bastard." The man said somewhat dismissively, and Jon noticed that it wasn't a question. "You are more skilled than your half-brother, but that doesn't mean much."

Jon didn't say anything, but he nodded, despite not knowing what he meant. Was he talking about his swordsmanship? Or something else?

His thoughts turned to the other matter - who was powerful enough to be able to insult the liege lord's heir so openly, and not get any backlash at all?

"Some advice, bastard." The lord started, his eyes boring into his own, but not showing anything. "Do not reveal your hand until you know when to apply it. Ignore the japes at your bastardy or at your name, for sometimes japes can cover up certain... Things."

"What things, my lord?" Jon asked, just as the man turned to leave.

"That isn't for me to decide, bastard. Only you can decide what things those japes can cover up."

The pale man left Jon to his thoughts, which were turbulent, to say the least. After all, he didn't even know the man's name...


	5. Interlude II: Eddard, Jon II

"Get him to Winterfell," Ned commanded upon seeing the crowd, upon seeing the young, but more importantly, bleeding out, Greyjoy heir. "Quickly, and make sure that he is given to Maester Luwin as soon as possible for treatment."

"Yes, milord." One of the bigger men said, carefully grabbing the boy and carrying him bridal style.

"Twenty-five of you shall go to the woods and sent them even farther away. If you manage to rid us of them, I shall hand out free food, alcohol to everyone within Winterfell's walls for two days." He ordered, deciding to reward his bannermen for their services to him - he planned on doing it anyway, especially after the amount of fighting that had occurred. "If you can't take them on, retreat however."

The resounding cheer indicated to Ned that he had made the right choice of words.

The wildling attack had scattered quickly after Theon had killed their leader, and Eddard knew for a fact that soon after he'd come back from fighting, he'd start again. They were more organized than from what he had heard from the Night's Watch monthly missives - Jeor Mormont had admittedly been reporting that his rangers had slowly started going missing, and Eddard knew that he would eventually have to organize another recruiting mission with the old bear.

The Night's Watch was far from when the Targaryen warrior princess had visited it, and it was now barely above a prison.

Ned shook his head, and concentrated on getting to Winterfell fast enough before anything bad happened again. His lady wife was going to be worried sick, especially since he had let most of his bannermen go home to their families.

"Any losses," he said to one of his field commanders, Ralt Snow. The man-boy was young, but he was capable - and he was able to get past his bastard name, which was what he hoped for Jon.

"Five of the young boys who hadn't seen any combat yet. None of the veterans." Ralt said, stoically but Ned could see the sadness in his posture.

He put his hand on the boy's right shoulder in an effort to show solidarity. "In war... Everyone can die. What we must remember, is that they were men - not numbers on a battlefield, to be put to cowskin leather by the Maesters and their quills."

"Thanks milord." Ralt replied, quietly after a moment's silence as they rode. "I sometimes forget that you lost far more than we have."

Eddard stilled for a moment, but regained a hold of himself. Ralt had been around eight when he brought Lyanna and Jon to Winterfell, after the Rebellion - he'd have known. Most were just too polite, or scared to be this direct.

"Losses are relative. We shouldn't compare our suffering to others." Ned answered.

"Why?" The man-boy asked, curiosity in his tone.

Eddard paused for a moment. He needed to put as much meaning into as little words as possible. Ralt deserved this from him.

"For, that is when you lose yourself, and the man that you were before then."

* * *

Jon had been practising in the yard when the warhorn sounded to signify that his father had returned to Winterfell from fighting off the Greyjoy Rebellion, he immediately put away his wooden sword, and ran towards the gates. He wanted... Needed to find out who the pale-eyed man was. His advice was strange, but it felt somewhat appropriate. It still stung when Lady Stark harshly called him 'bastard', but he managed to cope.

"Move out of the way, milord!" A large man said loudly to Robb who had been waiting for their father, carrying a boy with blood leaking out of him. "Maester Luwin! Where is he?!"

"Follow me," Lady Stark commanded the man, watching the boy with wariness, before moving away the man in tow. Jon felt a sudden kinship with the boy, whoever he was.

"Come on, Jon. We got to find out who he is." Robb whispered.

"Sure, but uh, what about Sansa?" Jon asked, concerned about his sister getting hurt by the chaos that was unfolding in the castle. She had taken to following him around, ever since he became participant in her games of knights and lions.

He had even taken to asking Robb to take care of her whilst he practised, since he didn't want Sansa to ask her mother about swords - he'd be skewered on the spot. Luckily, his brother was always willing to help him.

"She's sleeping at the moment, you know her, she's like a rock when she falls asleep." Robb reassured him, as they followed the man and the boy in his arms.

"I hope so." Jon conceded as they stopped in front of the impromptu infirmary, that was normally the dining hall. Various women of all ages were helping Maester Luwin with treating the patients, and caring for the injured.

What had happened?

Gods.

Father.

"Don't worry, milords." The large man said, noticing their panic as Luwin personally himself took care of the boy. "Your father's safe. This boy saved him from wildlings, scattered their host."

Jon's eyes widened in surprise. The boy looked older then him by quite a bit, but... Not old enough to kill a grown man.

"It's true," a voice came from their backs. Jon whirled on his heels, and immediately leapt on the figure, not even caring about Lady Stark at the moment.

Robb had joined as soon as he did, wrapping their arms around whatever they could of their father.

His father had started smiling, Jon could tell by the arms that wrapped around him and Robb. "My sons. I have missed you all so much."

Jon hadn't realized when the tears had come, but... He couldn't stop himself.

And the person he could thank, was a boy not much older then himself, who had even gotten injured saving people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note, even if I did say that I wouldn't, I kinda have to at this point. Ported directly over from FF.net, before you ask.
> 
> Theon has a hero streak. He doesn't even realize that he has one, but he does. He saves Asha almost instinctively, shoots a wildling that was about to kill an innocent Stark bannerman, and he killed the leader of the whole band, which made the wildlings fear for their lives.
> 
> Why? Because those wildlings had thought that northerners were not tough guys, so imagine if who they think is just a lord's son, killed their big badass leader well... Yeah. If a kid can do that much damage, then what chance do they have against grown men?
> 
> Before you ask about, Asha, yes, she is alive. That's all I can say.


	6. Winterfell

Options and Opportunities

Chapter IV

Winterfell

* * *

The first thing that came to me when I woke for the first time, was the fact that I had constricting bandages around my side, and shoulder, along with the fact that somebody had the rather embarrassing or familiar (depending on their age) task of changing my bloody clothes into some trousers and a tunic that was slightly too big for me. My sword was on the right side of the cot.

I managed to get myself seated, ignoring the twinge in my shoulder and side. I was the only one conscious at the moment, and the morning had barely started, so either I stayed in bed, or I started walking around. Only my body had been hurt during the fight - my legs were uninjured.

The door opened, and a small old man with a wool robe wrapped around him, and two boys whose major difference were their hair, and a small auburn-haired girl nestled in the arms of the brown-haired boy. Hang on, a minute.

"You're awake, child." The kind old man said. Wait a minute... "I am Maester Luwin, and the menaces are Robb, Jon, and little Sansa." I should have recognized them immediately. Hang on. Isn't Arya supposed to have been born by now?

"Me not be a menace!" Sansa retorted, with a pout, as Luwin chuckled.

"Shhh," Robb whispered to the little girl, with a small grin himself.

"I'm Theon Greyjoy," I replied, feeling slightly bad for interrupting the banter. "How's your father? Is he alright?"

"Lord Eddard Stark is perfectly fine, thanks to you." The Maester answered, kindness radiating from him. "He is speaking with Lady Catelyn. I shall inform him of you waking."

"Thank you, Maester," I said respectfully. I liked Luwin, I decided. "Could you find out where my sister is? I want to talk to her."

He nodded in reply and left the room, leaving me alone with the children of the North.

"Hey," Robb said to interrupt the silence that had filtered the room. "I have an idea."

"What idea?" Jon and I asked simultaneously. Sansa giggled, the bastard flushed and I smirked at the poor guy's embarrassment.

The heir of Winterfell grinned. "A tour of Winterfell for Theon."

"That's... A pretty good idea." I commented my approval. "Lead the way."

"Fe-fe..." Sansa babbled, struggling to pronounce the name. "On."

"Yes, I am Feon, Sansa." I said kindly. I was pretty good with kids if I could be bothered to be.

Jon shot me a wide smile, which quickly became sullen for some reason.

"Mother, father," Robb said, warmth in his voice. "I was just showing Winterfell to Theon. Is that okay?"

I looked up at the two adults that I admired. They should be an inspiration for any parent. "Thank you for the hospitality, Lord Stark, Lady Stark. I know that the war was long, and I apologize for my father's foolishness."

"Do not apologize for the past," Lord Ned Stark pronounced, after taking a few furtive glances at his lady wife. "Children should never be punished for the father's mistakes, even in wartime."

"I thank you for your mercy then, my lord," I said again, surprising them again. "I know that you, my lord, were the one to call for mercy. You _are_ famous for speaking against the King about the same matter a few years back."

Eddard Stark merely put his hand on my shoulder, an appreciative glance in his eyes, for having the decency not to mention Aegon and Rhaenys in front of his young, impressionable kids. "It is nothing, Theon. We shall be having breakfast in five minutes or so, you are welcome to join us, but, we need to talk about your sister in my solar."

Oh no, oh no, oh no... Suddenly, I felt even colder then I had before, underneath my wool tunic and trousers despite the fact that it had even felt slightly warm before. Asha, oh god.

A small warm hand grabbed my own cold one, and I felt myself calm down. She was going to be fine, I just had to believe.

"Feon be okay?" Sansa asked, her hand the culprit.

"Yes, I am, little Sansa," I replied, giving the small hand a squeeze, without an ounce of strength behind it. "Thank you."

I needed that. I had to stay focused at the moment.

I turned to the boys who shared both confused but concerned looks. Was I already their friend? That's surprising, but not unexpected for kids their age. "I'm sorry, Robb, Jon. But, I need to speak with your father. We'll go on our tour afterward, okay?"

"You promise?" Robb asked, a childlike innocence to what he said.

"I promise." I swore.

* * *

"Your sister disappeared during the fighting with the wildlings," Eddard Stark revealed, his tone stoic but sympathetic. "I have organized for my men to scour the woods, and have sent letters to my bannermen asking them to search as well."

"I thank you, my lord. May I ask you something, my lord?"

"Yes? What is it, Theon?" The Lord of Winterfell said.

"May I join the hunting parties? Asha is unlikely to bring herself back with your men looking for her. I mean no offense, of course, my lord." I asked, my eyes burning.

"Yes," Ned replied, his eyes sympathetic, but grieving. "I know of that feeling myself. Of powerlessness."

"I... I should be going, my lord." I answered, unable to stand the raw grief in the man's eyes. Lyanna Stark was so dear to that man.

The man said nothing as I left, closing the door behind me.

I needed to find Asha. Before it was too late.

Otherwise, I'd know what Eddard Stark had felt for the past six years, and that he would know for many more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another note from FF.net.
> 
> To be honest, I originally planned for Asha to come right as Ned said that she had disappeared, but...
> 
> I felt like being more sadistic on poor Theon. He's been winning too often recently, and I don't like protagonists that win constantly without suffering at least a tiny bit.
> 
> You know, pain always comes before victory. Theon hasn't really felt that apart from his mother.
> 
> Thoughts on the interactions between the Starks and Greyjoy heir? I thought of making Cat say something harsh to Jon, but I realized that it'd be nearing bashing territory and that Cat's first proper interaction with Theon be more appropriate than that. For now, unfortunately, she remains nothing more than a name with important connotations. She'll definitely get her spotlight though.


	7. Enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took longer then normal (hahaha, me having a 'normal' writing time, pfff), mostly because I've not been around to write anything, and I've started to do something that I've never done for any fanfics before - outlines for the story, characters, et cetera.
> 
> Also, interludes are going to be used quite often, mostly because Theon is only one perspective on what's been happening in the story, and he only has a 90° view. More then other characters for sure, but that isn't enough in my opinion to guarantee a whole story on his POV.

It had been nearly five months since Asha had disappeared, and no progress had been made beyond the remains of wildling camps, and occasional skirmishes with said wildlings. It was frustrating beyond belief, and now, I've been starting to believe that Asha had _wanted_ to disappear, and become a wildling.

There had been no wildlings beyond that fateful skirmish on the road, so how could she have not gotten to Winterfell? And all of the Free Folk had fled north when I had killed their leader, not north-west to Winterfell.

It was practically impossible that she could have gotten lost - the road to Winterfell was clear enough, and I didn't even know the geography of the North! Which I did mediate as soon as I could, with great assistance from Maester Luwin, but that's beside the point.

I shook my head, as I splashed some water on my face to wake me up. Jon and Robb had asked why I did that morning ritual, and I merely said that it was a custom from the Iron Islands. Which it _was_ but only if you were a disciple of the Drowned God, which I wasn't. And even then, I'm not sure about that.

They wouldn't check anyway - those two hung on nearly my every word. It was why I made a concentrated effort to take out my frustration on Ser Rodrik Cassel whenever he was available to spar, who had been incredibly helpful in making me a better swordsman, which was one of the most important assets that I had at the moment.

I did have a plan after all, for when the War of the Five Kings starts, after all. Being one of those kings was a much better position then hostage, in my opinion, even if I did want to ally myself with whoever was the King in the North. Hopefully Ned, but I'd take Robb too.

The only problem was shadow assassins, but if my prediction fell through, I don't _think_ that is going to be a problem. Stannis didn't need his ace in the hole, Melisandre, since he had the forces of the Stormlands at his heel, and what remained of the Iron Fleet.

All I prayed for, was that Balon cocked something up when he had to reconstruct the Iron Islands, for if not, he would have way more support then I would. Even if I did prey on his past mistakes, there were far too many variables for me to be comfortable with my attempted kingship plans. To be honest, I wasn't even sure if I wanted to be king - those people have a tendency to die in rather brutal ways, and I wasn't even sure if the Isles would recover from the loss of the Iron Fleet, which would make them essentially worthless in a war situation.

A few extra thousand men, which wasn't enough to assure a war, especially the war that came afterward.

I shook my head from thoughts of the future - canon had already changed once, why wouldn't other things change?

The waters were getting choppier and there is no port in sight, was a saying I could get behind at the moment. Even if it didn't exist.

I moved from the springs, and eventually found my room, changing from my bedclothes, to a thick wool shirt, and a pair of trousers - or breeches, I should probably start saying. The first month here was pretty tough, even from my childhood living in the French mountains, but I got used to it. Mostly by nearly always wearing socks to bed, but that's beside the point...

"Theon!" Robb said to me, as I exited my room. "You finished your morning ritual?"

"Have you, Robb, have you." I corrected absently, ignoring his scowl as I nodded. "Where's Jon and Sansa?"

"Jon's been reading about your namesake, and Sansa's still sleeping." He replied.

"My namesake?" I asked, blinking.

"Theon Stark, the Hungry Wolf." He elaborated, with a raised eyebrow.

"Huh. Don't think my father thought of that as he named me..."

"You know of him?"

"Yeah. He's the King in the North who repelled the Andal invasion, and expelled my ancestors from Bear Island and Cape Kraken." I recited, even as Robb gave me an exasperated look for my need to explain every little history thing that I knew.

"So, when you return to the Isles, you'll try to conquer us huh?" Robb asked, with a small grin.

"Probably." I returned, with a small smirk. "And then I'll be brutally killed by your sons."

"Well, somebody has to wipe that smirk off your face." The future Warden (or King) of the North retorted, not even bothering to consider that I wasn't joking like he had during my first month here. He knew that I was joking by now.

Our, to put it bluntly, brotherly walk continued towards Maester Luwin's office, which had calmed down from the last time we had gone there. Mostly, because of a training accident, and Jon had bloodied Robb's nose. I had a feeling that having to say it was an accident, was a disservice to Jon and Robb's friendship.

Luckily, Lady Stark had been distracted with little Sansa, which was starting to make me suspicious of the number of Stark children at the moment. If I remembered my timelines right, wasn't Arya supposed to be born by now?

Had something happened? Maybe. I definitely wasn't friendly with the Lady of the manor, due to my fast friendship with Jon, but it was cause for concern. Mostly due to lack of heirs - only Jon could inherit if Robb died unexpectedly, and even then, that was only if he was legitimized, or the North recognized him as a Stark.

Sansa could as well, but I had a suspicion that the North would prefer Jon if they were at war - the boy was pretty good at swordsmanship for his age, and he was pretty keen on anything even related to tactics and strategy. Something had changed relative to canon - Jon had never been _this_ motivated if my knowledge of the books was still up to scratch. To be honest, Jon had never been one of my favorite characters until ADWD, where he had truly started to shine. To me, at least.

"My lords! Come in, come in." Luwin said as we knocked on the door. It wouldn't do to come in unannounced.

"So, how's the history going?" I asked with Jon explaining gleefully what he had been studying. I had always been willing to talk with the poor guy, but thankfully, it was getting better for him - mostly because unlike canon, I didn't try to be a dick to him, unlike Theon.

And I made sure to visibly reassure him whenever Catelyn got into her 'Southern' opinions on bastards. Admittedly, some Northern lords and ladies were right, well, bastards about it too.

"Milords!" A man yelled, bursting through the open doors. "A free folk attack on the walls, the Lord wants you to be in the hall right now!"

Jon and Robb looked bewildered, and I hastily grabbed their wrists, leading the two boys with me, following the man with his furs and sword at his hip. "Your name, ser?" I asked, trying to make this stressful situation less stressful.

"I'm er, Norell." The man said as we exited the room. "And I ain't no ser, southerner."

I narrowed my eyes and stopped. Not at the perceived insult. This man's leather armor was roughly put on, in a hurry, probably. That sword was also just as hastily put in its sheath. "You're a wildling, aren't you, _Norell_?"

"Theon-" Maester Luwin tried to say but was interrupted.

"What makes you say that?" He said, suddenly becoming challenging - just as they were in the books.

"You stole a man's leathers and stole his sword. You're trying to kidnap us - lead us to whoever awaits us beyond." I continued, looking at his body - he didn't look comfortable in those leathers either.

"Oh, so you're a fucking guard now, eh, kneeler?" Norell sneered roughly, as he started pulling a roughly made dagger from his trousers. I slowly backed away, desperately glancing around for something to defend myself.

Managing to throw myself back to avoid the thrust, I smashed my fist against his stomach. Backing up further, I hastily grabbed the knife-

An impact, and then I was on the floor as he loomed over me, seemingly swaying. A sudden cry of action and Jon kicked the side of the man's bent knees, sending him crashing to the floor.

I lashed out wildly with my knife.

Norell gurgled, blood leaking from his throat, and I pushed it even further, realizing that I had struck his throat, as he tried to stab me, only for him to be stomped on by Jon, who looked downright wolfish as he glared down at the wildling.

I hastily stood up, staring at the corpse and his mangled throat, my knife nearly going through it in a gory sight. "Thanks, Jon."

He stopped glaring at the wildling to look slightly disturbed at the carnage, "do-" before seemingly stomping it down with a shake of his head. "Don't worry 'bout it."

"We need to find Sansa and Lady Catelyn," I decided, ignoring Robb's terrified, shell-shocked look. "Where would they be, Jon?"

"In the solar, with guards." He said, sounding grim. "I hope."

"Maester Luwin," I started to say, as the old man turned to me, with narrowed brows. "Barricade your room, whilst I and Jon try to find Sansa and Catelyn."

"What-what about me?" Robb tried to say straightly but stuttered at the fear coursing through him.

I felt a bit of sympathy for the boy but squashed it. "You're the heir. Stay with Luwin, help him barricade the door. Please, Robb."

"I-i... Okay." He said, before nodding, turning his head away.

I turned to pilfer the man's dagger and sword, only to find Jon handing me the sword and taking the dagger.

"I'm coming with you, Theon." The Bastard of Winterfell said, seriously, barely even looking at the corpse. "I can't let you go by yourself."

"I-" I tried to say, but it was obvious Jon would be far too stubborn. "Okay, but we are going to avoid fights."

"I can't let you go, my lords," Luwin said, with a forlorn look in his gaze as he looked to me and then, Jon.

"Duty tells me to keep Lady Catelyn and Lady Sansa safe, and we may be too late," I replied.

"That is why I am not trying to force you." He continued, acting as if he never heard me, sadness in his voice. "Please spare me the grief of losing my charges. Can you promise me that?"

"I-i... I can." I said, water in my eyes before I tried squashing my emotions. I turned around, entering the hall with Jon at my side, hearing activity behind it as I closed the door.

"Where we going?" I commanded, without any hesitation.

"Father's solar is to the west," Jon replied, as we ran through the halls, eventually arriving in front of the solar.

"Lady Catelyn, it's us, Theon and Jon! Robb's safe with Maester Luwin!" I called.

"Prove it." I heard the slightly panicked voice of the Lady of Winterfell say. "How can I tell that it's you?"

I wracked my brain, but Jon beat me to the punch. "Sansa's first word was 'Robb', and her second was 'Jon', milady."

Momentary silence, before a child's voice rose from behind the door. "Jon-jon?"

"Shh, shh," Catelyn whispered quickly before her voice became hard. "Bastard, Greyjoy. Find my husband and help him push back the wildlings."

Her voice cracked a tiny bit, desperation seeping through. "I can at least trust you to do that, bastard? Can I?"

"Yes, milady," Jon replied, with a tiny bit of warmth. For Sansa's sake, I guessed. "I swear by the Old Gods."

I looked at the bastard, and we both nodded at each other. We ran towards the courtyard, where the main fighting seemed to be happening and saw total and utter chaos - but the wildlings were on the back foot, and seemed to be less and less with each swing of the Stark bannermen's swords.

Eventually, they tried to flee, but they were quickly culled by precise shots from the men from the battlements.

Only a few remained, and they quickly surrendered.

"Send them to the dungeons," Eddard Stark's voice rose. "We shall see to justice after I've checked after my family."

"Yes, milord!" They all shouted with respect obvious in their tone.

"You shall be rewarded for your quick service in defending Winterfell accordingly," he continued, before motioning to a blond-haired man with grey eyes next to him. "Ask Commander Ralt for more details."

"Alright, you mongrels..." The blond-haired man said, with a smirk on his lips, as the Lord of Winterfell turned to us, his worry visible on his long face. He quickly hurried towards us, grabbing Jon in a fierce hug, and patting me on the shoulder.

"Lady Catelyn and Sansa are in your solar, and Robb and Luwin are in the study," I said, after giving Jon a quiet moment with his dad. "Somebody posed as a worried guard, and tried to lead us out of the keep to his 'King'."

"Is he alive or dead?" The Lord asked, detaching himself from his bastard son.

"Dead," I said, grimly. "His corpse is with Luwin. He nearly killed us all when Jon helped me kill him. I apologize my lord, but Robb saw it all."

"I see." Ned Stark said, a frown on his face.

"Theon isn't going to be punished, is he?" Jon asked, concernedly. Nice to know that whilst Jon is way more ruthless then before, he still cares for people.

"I would never punish somebody for defending themselves against murderers, Theon is no exception just because my heir witnessed it." He explained to Jon, who merely nodded in agreement.

"My lord," I said, deciding that forthrightness was the best way to deal with a Stark. "I believe that a traitor may be within the guards of Winterfell. It is the only thing that explains how a wildling got the leather jerkin of the House Stark bannermen and a normal iron sword."

The Lord of Winterfell's eyes hardened. "I shall deal with this. Return to Robb and Maester Luwin, I shall be with my wife. You may all come soon afterward."

I nodded and quickly left to get Robb, as my thoughts started whirling.

What in the name of God had happened there? A full-on attempted assault on Winterfell?

This was going to escalate in another war. The Free Folk had been a blight on the North for centuries, and this was just adding petrol to the fire, so to speak.

To attack the Warden of the North... What was their plan? What was this puzzle piece that I was missing?

I sighed, and continued to Robb and Maester Luwin with Jon at my side, stormy snows booming from above.

That was rather poetic of me - because Robert Baratheon wasn't going to let the wildlings attack his foster brother, never in his lifetime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am convinced that if Ned had just fought off an attack like that, on his own home, he'd be quite affectionate with his family when he saw them - especially so soon after battle.
> 
> Yes, I am making things more fucked up then canon, even if indirectly - the Free Folk really did fuck up this time.
> 
> (also, ((!spoiler warning!)) the king may not be Mance. Just saying.)
> 
> Theon did nearly die there - that wildling was merely a swing away from killing him. Jon really did save him from a dagger there.
> 
> Jon is far more ruthless in this story then in canon - which is mostly due to Theon making him read up on the old Kings of Winter who were pretty pragmatic and ruthless, but more importantly, they got shit done, and most of them were good kings. (don't verify that, I only know of a few of them)
> 
> He definitely isn't going to be the same Jon as in canon, especially with the amount of fighting he's going to be seeing. Oops. Spoilers.


	8. Interlude III: Eddard II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small interlude on the consequences of the wildling attack on Winterfell, and a few more pieces of AU/altered history to throw a wrench in Theon's way.
> 
> WARNING: There is a trigger warning for torture and psychological torture. The North Remembers, after all. Not graphic nor Bolton level, but it is still torture.

It had been barely two days since the attack on his home, and already Eddard felt his wolf's blood flaring. He normally was calmer, but an attack on his home? No Stark had ever let that happen, and Eddard couldn't let himself be the one to not be able to defend it either.

When Theon had told him of Robb not being able to act when needed, he felt his eyes narrow. No Northerner would respect a Lord who got paralysed with fear, and whilst he knew that Jon would never take the place of his brother, he feared that some of the less honourable houses would not have the same restraint.

Robb was young admittedly, but in comparison to his brother and foster brother, he seemed far less dependable and Eddard knew that Roose Bolton was looking for any weaknesses, even if the legendary treaty of the Neck said that no Stark or Bolton could ever come to blows without the Lord losing his land and titles, there was a loophole - after all, what was more valuable: becoming the Warden of the North, or staying a bannerman, being Lord of the Dreadfort?

It had happened, after all, centuries before Aegon came with his sisters and dragons.

Robert wouldn't stand for it, but if Bolton planned for the next generation? After all, their friendship was a small miracle. The Storm God and the Old Gods had never been allies, after all, even if they weren't enemies, unlike the Drowned God and the Storm God...

There was also the matter of finding the traitor within Winterfell, but Ralt had discretely notified him that he had found a couple of suspects about the matter. After all, if the traitor (or traitors, a small part of him whispered) had time to flee.

"Get me, Commander Ralt," he said to one of the guards, who nodded and ran towards the barracks. He had offered the bastard to get some lodgings in Winterfell's abandoned tower after it was refurbished and rebuilt, but the man had refused, saying that he was not above his men apart from rank.

"Milord," the commander said, bowing his head quickly.

"Come with me," Eddard ordered as he moved towards the dungeons. "And order some of the guards to take one of the wildlings to the interrogation room... They may use force if they have to."

Ralt gave a grim smile before he started barking out orders. Eddard had never used it before, but he remembered Benjen telling him what to do after coming back from the Rebellion. He had initially been horrified but knew that he would have to use it one day to protect his home.

At least, he mused darkly, it isn't as bad as the room underneath the Dreadfort.

"I'm helping, ser Ralt," he heard the Greyjoy heir say, coldly. "Whether you want to or not."

"I ain't so ser firstly-"

Eddard knew of why Theon wanted to help with the interrogation - the disappearance of his sister that seemed to be orchestrated by the wildlings, that echoed Lyanna in different ways.

The frustration, the sadness and then the grim, hard determination. It seemed that the boy had passed into the third, and yet he was so young to have that burden... Yet, Ned knew that he couldn't deny the boy either.

"Let him help, Ralt," Eddard ordered. "He knows to keep it quiet."

"I will. I swear it." The Greyjoy stated, with a grim look on his face.

The three waited for two minutes, as the guards brought in a beaten up man with furs and stag bones around his neck.

"Chain him to the chair," Ned commanded, coldly. "And bring me Joren."

The wildling started screaming in anger, as he tried to rebel against the guards. Eddard barely flinched, as his mind and face became the Land of Always Winter. They had attacked his family, had tried to kidnap his wife and children, murder his men...

The North's coldness was merely a reflection of their Wardens, after all.

Joren appeared after a few moments, Eddard unsurprised by the tall man's mousey hair and cold face, as he neared them.

**TRIGGER WARNING, SKIP IF YOU'RE SENSITIVE TO THIS STUFF**

"What the fuck do you want, kneeler?!" The man screamed as he rebelled against the chains, as they were applied with expert precision.

Ned merely nodded to Joren, who sent a punch to the man's gut.

Theon and Ralt looked slightly uncomfortable, but their faces remained as frigid as possible.

"Pain doesn't frighten me, you fucking southern cunts, the Wee-"

Another nod to Joren, as the masked man started pulling out a knife from his sheath, nearing it to the man's hand...

And stabbed through the entire hand.

"AH! YOU FUCKING CUNTS!" The man screamed, moaning as his hand erupted with blood. "That was my hand..."

"We'll let you suffer a slow death in the snow," Joren said, interrupting the man. "The Starks are far nicer than the Boltons. You know what will happen if Lord Stark decides that you aren't worth the bother, and sends you to his bannerman? You think your eye is bad? They'll take your skin and wear it as a cloak, and you'll still live to see your other parts taken from you... It's said that they even have a type of plant that keeps you awake, and another to make you hyper-aware of your pain..."

"Do you want that? And, we'll send every wildling that we find. Your wife, her children..." Joren continued, whispering darkly into his ear. "Their dogs do also have urges, and I'm told that they aren't exactly well fed either..."

**END OF THE TRIGGER**

The wildling's eyes went wide, and Joren motioned them to get out of the room, staying behind for a few minutes, agonising screams getting through the thick walls. He exited the room, wiping the blood off his knife.

"Milord," the cold man said quietly. "I ask permission to have some men and some women obtained. The prisoner is scared, but he is not broken enough to give up reliable information. Also, let him mingle with the prisoners. He shall spread the tales of the Boltons, and if he doesn't say anything... You get my gist."

"Yes, good work, Joren. I shall send a payment by the end of the week." Eddard said, somewhat happy that the business was over. He did not like torturing, but he was also sworn to protect the North and his family. "You may lodge in Winter town if you want."

"Thank you, milord," he said, bowing as he neared the exit. "I shall go, however. It looks like I am disturbing your ward and commander."

Ned merely nodded, and shortly after the man left, he and his two companions exited the dungeons.

Ralt left shortly afterwards, saying that he had to tell the guards about the new situation... Or at least, the most loyal ones.

"Theon... You do understand why I did that?" He asked cautiously, mentally cursing himself and his attitude. He was still a child and didn't have to see all that.

"I do, Lord Stark." The boy replied, his uneven voice betraying his still cold face. "But, Robb will not so readily understand. He hasn't seen the world in as harsh of a perspective then me and Jon have."

Even Theon had realized that Robb wasn't ready, and whilst there was time, Ned was afraid. The wildlings had managed to get into Winterfell, and it was only luck that Ralt had been training his men in Winterfell that had saved them.

He would die, and nothing would be able to stop Roose Bolton from rebelling. He had to teach Robb before his time, and whilst Eddard thought it nasty business to teach to a child, it had to be done.

After all... How many had suffered due to his ancestor's failing to teach their heirs in time? The ancient Stark kings had been wise, but they had also been beset by heirs not being trained well enough, and the second sibling having to step up.

Eddard refused to see that happen to either Jon or Robb.

Otherwise, the North would never survive the Boltons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning to have this chapter be Stannis, then Ned, but I really struggled to write it... Because the Red Keep is just so dreadfully boring to write.
> 
> When it comes to the war with the Wildlings or the 'The Northern War' as its tentative title, it'll flow much better the Southern chapters. Because, a lot, and I mean, a lot of shit has been changed from canon in the South, regarding politics, heirs, et cetera. No spoilers though.
> 
> About Ned being willing to torture people... I have one thing to say about that: the more modern Starks are far more ruthless then in canon, and Rickard Stark was just as willing to impart his ancestor's teachings to his children. It'll lead to many changed things from canon such as Lyanna wasn't naively idiotic, unlike canon...
> 
> And also, he's not the one torturing people. He actually feels uneasy about it but is willing to do it for his family and the North. Doesn't change much, but it is something to note.


	9. Compassion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about the torture from last chapter - it'll probably be the last you'll see of it. Properly in detail. 
> 
> Mentions though, I can't really get away from, without detracting from the fact that this is, well, Westeros.

I quickly ran to the springs as soon as Ned had gone beyond the corridor, and I could let my mask slip. What the fuck was that?!

I felt horrified, despite my intentionally cold expression. How in the name of god do they think that is an okay thing to do? It was ineffective, cruel, like how do they think that this is going to bring any relevant information?! Not to mention that sadistic fuck of Joren thinking that psychological torture was even better!

A sudden grim, hard determination came over me. I was going to prove all these medieval idiots wrong, that stabbing or flaying people doesn't provide good results.

I walked back the way I came, ignoring any of the servants that wished to wipe the grime off my breeches. I eventually arrived in front of the unguarded dungeons and walked in.

"What the fuck do you want, you fucking sadistic cunt?" One of the wildlings screamed at me, and I barely restrained my flinching.

"I'm not here to torture you," I said. "I'm here to help you out."

There had to be a reason to the wildlings invading the North now.

"How? You're just another one of these kneelers..." The one spearwife that had been captured said, with a defeated tone, and a nasty bruise on her rather beautiful face, and dirt on her dark locks.

"I'll... Be able to convince the Starks to give you the Neck." I quickly tried to think. "They aren't without reason. If you just tell them _why_ or _who_ , they'll be merciful. I swear."

"Why, you won't believe us anyway, kneeler." The spearwife replied, after silencing her brothers, seemingly being the leader of this small band. "And who, you won't recognize him anyway."

"Maybe. But you've got two options here - you get tortured for info that leads to a war, or you listen to me that may lead to peace and your wish since your ancestors were first kicked beyond the wall." I said as I turned to leave.

"Your name, kneeler?" The spearwife asked, with some fire to her tone.

"Theon Greyjoy. What about yours?" I replied as I stopped in front of the exit.

"My name is Jalla, and the rest of these idiots are Tarren, Mund, and Thulri," Jalla replied, something approaching warmth in her tone.

"I'll make sure to remember those names," I said sincerely, as I left the dungeons to rush towards Ned's solar. I had to convince him... Otherwise...

I had to do something. The wildlings were running away from _something_. The Others, or maybe a more mundane threat... There was an explanation _. Somewhere_. The Free Folk had never been prone to... _This_ large-scale attack, especially beyond the Wall.

I hadn't thought of it before, too consumed by being... Westerosi, I suppose. Too focused on myself and the people around me.

I knocked on the door, entering when I heard that muffled 'enter'.

"My lord," I said, kneeling, only rising after a second or two on the floor. "I've come to you on the matter of the wildlings."

"Theon... I know that your sister is dear to you-" He tried to pacify me, but I interrupted quickly. Mentioning Asha only brought me frustration at the moment.

"My lord, if you may, it isn't about that. It's about the reason why the wildlings are invading." I said, praying that Ned was feeling patient today. "I've been in a bit of a history craze at the moment, and I've noticed one thing - the wildlings have never tried an all-out attack like that, in all of the history that I've managed to get my hands on."

"This matters because...?" Eddard replied, raising his brow, willing me to continue. He was trying to get me to explain myself... Luckily, I was in a rather rhetorical mood.

"The wildlings have to be running away from something. They were trying to gain a bargaining chip by kidnapping Robb, Sansa or even Jon and negotiate to some kind of terms. Unfavourable ones for sure, but..." I said, taking a moment to catch my breath.

"So who is chasing them? The Others have been gone for centuries..."

I thought about it for a second, and then I realized what that tortured man had nearly said before Joren had stabbed him. The Weeper. One of the most sadistic men within the Free Folk. "They're running away from one of their own."

"Why would they run? Why not just fight him off?" Eddard asked.

"Yes, but within the wildlings, they still have the remnants of the Old Magic. Greenseers, wargs. Imagine if, under this man, they all formed a banner and decided that whoever rebelled would feel the might of the old magic and the madness of their leader? It'd be impossible to fight off, within the constraints of their primitive tools and weaponry." I replied, adrenaline coursing through me.

"It's a valid explanation," Ned replied, in a tone that I wasn't quite sure of. "However, how am I going to justify fighting on behalf of wildlings? To the Umbers, the Mormonts and the Glovers especially?"

"Divide the governance of the Gift between them three, with the main power being you of course. We'll allow the wildlings to elect a leader to give them a voice, and as they get used to a life of not pillaging, they'll eventually be able to govern their own lands." I replied, thinking through the details in my head. "The North'll gain quite a lot of men, and if the tales are true, other mystical creatures that the wildlings can communicate with."

"The political fiasco with the South will be catastrophic." He said, and that when I knew that I had him. The North did not care for politics unless it was within the North itself.

"Your friends with the king, the hand of the king and allies with the Riverlands, which can be defended if we manage to gain permission to build castles and fortifications along the borders with the other kingdoms. The Tullys will agree, mostly due to the fact that the Riverlands is nearly completely undefendable on its own. The Blackfish will testify for you if I've heard the stories about him correctly." I continued.

"The Westerlands nor the Reach will agree to it, but the Riverlords will always have a place in the North." He replied, as I mentally added 'as long as they transport all their food with them as well'. "I'll see what I can do. Firstly, let's see if you can get them to get more information out of them. You're doing a far better job then Joren is doing."

I managed to stop myself from saying that he shouldn't have been used anyway, but nodded and left.

"Good job, Theon." Eddard Stark said, and I suppressed my smile as best as I could, as I hurried to the dungeons. There was still work to be done after all.

I had both stopped and started a war, and I had managed to do it within a single conversation. The thought chilled me, just as much as I felt guilty pride. Varys and Littlefinger would be proud of me, I'm sure.

The worst thing is, I'm not even sure I'm even _right_. I was working on guesses and knowledge that was starting to barely have any meaning any more.

For all I know, I'm being played for a fiddle by Jalla.

That was the worst thing of all. Having that niggling doubt that you were only a pawn, trying to be a player.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're disappointed that all of the wildlings aren't going to meet Bobby B's hammer, all I have to say is that Theon is only a fish in a massive pond. Having the potential to be big enough to make waves, but not quite there yet.
> 
> I hope that Ned is feeling in character as I felt he was last interlude. Also, I was originally going to have a minor exposition dump, but instead plot happened. I only hope that the story isn't going too fast for you guys. I'm just really, really excited to get to canon with all of the changes that are happening - both known and behind the scenes... If canon even happens with all the changes.


	10. Interlude IV: The Kneeler King, Jon III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A look on the 'enemy'.
> 
> Also, I apologize if the numbers seem off... I've never been good with estimating army numbers, or numbers in general. I know that the Free Folk are far larger then Mance's host in the books, but apart from that...

The plan had been a catastrophic failure. Trying to gain a hostage from the Starks was a last bitter attempt, and now Mance had barely any plans left.

The Warg King was slowly approaching, and would decimate the North and the Watch. Nobody would be able to stop him. His army of scared wildlings, beasts and mythical creatures...

"Mance," Styr said, entering his tent, following him were the leaders that had joined Mance's host. Tormund, young Val and Dalla, and Styr were the only ones that had felt the need to flee the Warg King, and their host of fifteen to twenty thousand scattered warriors was pitiful when compared to the hordes of the King-Beyond-the-Wall.

Mance couldn't call himself that any more - they were already beyond the wall.

They were only not being remorselessly hunted due to a boy, Rankar, who was controlling the many beasts in order to stop the Warg King from attempting to assassinate them in their sleep. It was humiliating to the Free Folk's pride, to be saved by a mere child, but they also knew that there was no-one else that could help them.

"Styr? What is it?" Mance replied, after he strung a remorseful tune. "I know that we have failed."

"And the men are asking why we follow you, because all of your plans have failed." Styr continued, his voice low as usual.

"None of these kneelers know of the Warg King... Do they?" Val asked, continuing when no-one told her otherwise. "Why not tell them?"

"Because the Free Folk are seen as a blight by the North, and we have not done anything to counter-act the image." Mance answered, bluntly.

"Nothing else has worked. None of our raids, none of these plans of yours!" Tormund yelled, unwilling to contain it any longer. "I ain't willing to kneel to the fucking Starks, but what else can we do? The Warg King ain't exactly going to go away, and I'm not letting my sons be his any longer!"

Silence came after Tormund's outburst, and Mance had no other choice. Maybe the Starks would be merciful, maybe not. Mance would be called the Kneeler King, but he was also willing to give his life for his people. They were frightened of the hawks, the wolves, and the hordes, but maybe, the Starks would give them a chance.

"I'll present myself to the Starks." Mance said with finality, ignoring their stares. "I'll plead for the case of the Free Folk, inform them of the Warg King. I ask of you, to submit to any judgement that they bring. They'll ask us to stop raiding, submit ourselves... But, we'll be in their lands. We'll finally see the lands beyond the Wall, beyond all of our scattered host."

"All I ask of you, is to submit yourselves. I will not let any of you die, I swear." The man said, setting down his lute. "I will probably be executed for my crimes, but I ask of you to not anger yourselves at my plight. I ask a lot, but I will also give you a lot. A chance beyond the Lands of always Winter, which are harsher and colder then here."

"You do ask a lot," Tormund said, his voice eerily calm for the boisterous man. "But, I trust you, Mance. I'll convince my raiders, and fight any who disagree."

The Magnar merely nodded and young Val sung, a whispered tune of good luck.

"Gather all the Free Folk in this camp," Mance ordered, musing that his final command may be a death sentence, or it may be their salvation. "And prepare yourselves for either letters, or an army presenting the Starks' terms."

They all said their assents in various manners, but he could barely hear them, as he left the tent and prepared himself. He had thought himself Bael the Bard, yet Mance had made himself into somebody far less legendary.

After all, who would like to hear of the legend of the Kneeler King, who had submitted to the Starks in fear?

* * *

It had been a strange week for Jon, ever since the wildlings had been fought off and captured.

Theon had disappeared for three days, barely speaking to anyone, only speaking to the guards and his father before disappearing off again. He had come back looking exhausted yet satisfied, like he had done something incredible.

Sansa had been with her mother far more often, and Jon felt somewhat ashamed to admit that he felt somewhat afraid that Lady Stark was going to convince her that he wasn't her brother, and was just a bastard that should be shamed, and disrespected.

Yet, she always came to him, and had started ignoring her mother who had grown even more cold, and temperamental towards Jon, who admitted that he had felt incredibly happy about it, even if the trade-off was servants being more willing to ignore him, among other things.

Robb... Was another story, after the attempted murder of Maester Luwin and Theon.

He distracted himself from the thoughts as Theon nearly got in a hit, that would have staggered him otherwise. The Greyjoy was incredibly strong and flexible for his age, and Jon suspected that he knew how - having managed to convince him to share with the bastard.

"Jon," Theon said, raising a hand to stop his sword swing in its tracks. "You're distracted."

"I know, sorry." He replied apologetically. "It's just... I've been wondering why you've been so... Not here, recently?"

"It's those wildlings that we captured," the elder boy replied, seemingly ignoring Jon's scowl. "I had a suspicion on why they attacked, and I found out that reason."

"What was that reason?" Jon asked, curious despite his misgivings. Nobody should have attacked his family! "I mean, they are just wildlings..."

"Jon... They're still people, with fears and flaws like us." Theon said, looking at him cautiously. "We can't go around killing people just because they might have attacked us. We'd be no better otherwise."

He looked the floor, ashamed of his words, even if he slightly disagreed. "I still think that they should have done something apart from attack, but..."

"They should have," Theon interrupted, surprising the Snow with that answer. "Come on, Jon. I'm a sympathetic person, not completely brain-dead."

"So. Why did they attack then?" Jon asked.

"Firstly," the elder boy started, motioning him to follow him to the springs. "What do you know of wargs?"

"They could immerse their mind with animals, and become them. They also lost their minds, become more animal-like with each animal that they warged with, if they died with themselves inside the animal." Jon recited, as they neared the warm pool of Winterfell.

"So, basically, the wildlings that attacked us, are running from a self-named King-Beyond-the-Wall, called the Warg King, that apparently has a horde far larger then any other horde that attacked the Wall before, with giants and other mythical creatures under his command. They ran from him, under a man called Mance Rayder, who managed to convince a few chiefs to follow him through the Wall." Theon explained, with a slightly concerned tone to his voice.

"...How did they cross the Wall? I don't think that the Wall has been invaded." Jon continued, after a momentary silence.

"Apparently, and take this with a bit of salt, a boy called Rankar managed to warg into animals that brought them enough wood to craft proper ships, and not just the fishing boats. Mance Rayder was the one that ordered their construction after a skirmish with the Warg King, though they still lost a few hundred men to the harsh waters."

"It's..." Jon said, struggling to find a word to describe it. "A posse-abili... ty?"

"Yep. I doubt the story, even if there are nuggets of truth in it." Theon said, ignoring his mishap of pronunciation, which Jon quietly appreciated. "Let's get back before people ask on us."

"I doubt that," Jon replied, bitterly, as he thought on Robb being more distant and Lady Stark manipulating the servants. The only thing that stopped his bitterness from overcoming him was Sansa and Theon, who seemed his constant supporters. Father was also supportive, yet... It wasn't the same.

Theon said nothing in reply, since there was nothing to say - he knew of his situation already.

As they neared the courtyard, Jon knew that something was wrong as soon as Father came out of his solar in leather armour and a sword at his hip, and the guards mustered.

"There's a wildling at our gates, holding a white flag, milord!" One of the guards said. "Want us to shoot him?"

"No. Let him in." His father replied, and after a few more shouts, the guards opened the gates, and a figure rode through the gate.

"My name's Mance Rayder," the wildling said, his eyes boring into Lord Stark's own. "And I've come to offer the peace of the wildlings that are under my authority, and that I offer my life for the chiefs that have followed me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was legitimately debating with myself, if I should make it the Others, the Weeper or some type of warg being the main antagonist of this section of the story.
> 
> The Others were out as soon as I thought the idea, and the Weeper could be put down rather easily, making him not much of an antagonist. However, a powerful warg?
> 
> That opens up quite a dilemma, especially considering that the South may not believe the North... And, considering that the South is probably the army that the North needs to help it win this war, which is shaping up to be far more dangerous then anyone could have predicted, even Theon, with his knowledge of canon.


End file.
